The Telmar Trilogy, Vol 2: Her Ladyship of Telmar
by KartheyM
Summary: The second installment in my continuation of The Chronicles, a sequel to "The Legend of Telmar." Melanie is now a part of the Pevensie crowd, and Susan is fast falling for Benton's ideas and opinions. In Telmar, Melanie faces the greatest challenge of her life. Is she worthy of any honor, cursed as she is?
1. Chapter 1: Susan's Set

_**Chapter 1**_

Susan walked among the columns of King's College, feeling the chill autumn wind whipping around the stone and chilling her legs.

"Susan!"

She looked up and smiled as Hattie Pergil, a pretty girl with curly walnut hair and glasses, ran toward her. Well,I suppose _ran _would not be the proper term.

Hattie was a sweet-natured girl, but she was of the sort endowed with those funny quirks that made others want to initially avoid them, but in reality they were completely harmless. Hattie's "quirk" was immediately evident in the way she walked. As long as she kept a slow pace, you couldn't tell, but Hattie's knees weren't quite what they ought to have been. When she wanted to go any faster than a walk, the joints "wobbled" (no other word could express the commotion!) in their sockets, giving the hastening girl the appearance that her legs might collapse at any moment.

She "wobbled" up to Susan now. Hattie was such a sweet girl that Susan purposely chose to overlook her defect, or if there were any feelings of revulsion within her, she suppressed them for the sake of civility. "Hello, Hattie," she said amiably.

"Say, I've invited some girls to my house this evening for a dinner party. Do you want to come? Please say yes!"

Susan laughed at the eager petition. "I suppose you've left me no option, dear Hattie! Of course I'll come."

Hattie's eyes shone behind her lenses. "Oh, wonderful! See you tonight then!"

Susan smiled as Hattie walked away.

Susan ate lunch that day with two other girls, Mirabelle Anthony and Charity Daniels. They were discussing their after-college plans when a quiet voice behind Susan asked, "May I sit here?"

Susan turned to face Etienne Genoud, the French exchange student. "Hello, Ettie; of course you may," she said, pulling out the chair next to her.

"Ettie," Charity piped up as the French girl took her seat, "we were just talking about what we want to do after college. Do you have any plans?"

Ettie, as the other girls called her, was mildly perplexed for a moment. "What I will do tonight, _non_? Ah, _oui, _after I finish my education." She smiled, "I would like to become what you English call a midwife, to help the mothers with the babies."

Susan nodded. The petite French girl had hands and temperament as gentle as her voice. Etienne was adequately suited for such an occupation.

Mirabelle sniffed, "Well, _I _don't want to be stuck with squalling babies. I want to become a surgeon's assistant, maybe even surgeon someday."

Charity cocked her head at her friend. "Can a woman be surgeon?"

Mirabelle shrugged, "Well, I don't know if any have, but it doesn't mean they can't! You all know me, I don't mind being the first."

The girls all laughed, and Susan pondered her friend's ambitions during the rest of her classes.

She and Benton met after classes, and Susan asked what he thought about women filling professional positions normally dominated by men. Benton thought carefully before giving his reply.

"I do not think it wise for women to feed their domineering nature when it comes to holding positions higher than men," he stated firmly.

Susan was confused. "But what about the lecture you gave me last week on attaining my independence? If women begin obtaining key positions formerly dominated by men, do you not agree this is a step in the right direction?"

Benton paused for a moment. "What I told you last week is true, but this . . . _infiltration_, for lack of a better term, may be a step _too far_. Women should seek positions in the workforce, I support that premise, but only as high as a position such as 'Assistant Something-or-other.' They should not be leaders of men."

"But even as assistant, wouldn't they be leading _some _men?"

"The difference there is that she is still directly answerable to a man, as opposed to being manager herself, and answerable to some impersonal, external government or parliament, which I believe is unhealthy for a woman. By the way, since when were you so interested in the finer points of feminism?"

Susan blushed, but told him about the lunchtime conversation.

"Wait," Benton interrupted, "you were having lunch with that . . . _French _girl?" He could not restrain a slight curl of his lip, and his eyes looked at Susan as if she had just told him she sat next to a mass murderer.

"Is something wrong?" she asked defensively.

"Not entirely, it's just that, well, I've heard her uncle is one of those Red miners causing trouble in France. I would not consort with her any more if I were you."

Susan drew herself up indignantly, "And what if I choose to anyway? What makes you believe such rumors?"

Benton shrugged, "Whether she believes the same or not is up to her, but the fact that she is related to a Communist makes her Communist by association—something you risk yourself if you continue to be her friend. I do not pretend to overlord you, I am merely warning you." He looked at her with his eyes full of the brotherly concern Susan found so difficult to resist. She sighed.

"On another note," Benton continued, "There's an article about the paranormal our professor gave us this morning. It discusses some reasons people choose to believe in the supernatural, and describes options more applicable to real life for those reasons. I found it very intriguing, and I want to discuss it with you. Can you come over for supper, and we can talk then?"

Susan hesitated. "I can't come over tonight, but perhaps tomorrow."

"Whyever not?" Benton asked.

Susan blushed, "Hattie Pergil invited me to a dinner-party at her house tonight."

"Hattie? The gimp?"

"Benton!"

"I'm sorry, that's just how everyone knows her."

"She is a _very _nice girl and I am _glad _to be her friend!"

Benton turned urgently to Susan. "Will you be so glad when she prevents you from forgetting Narnia?"

Susan furrowed her brow, "What?"

"Hattie Pergil, I agree, is a very . . . nice girl, but she is very simple. She could easily believe in fantasies. Some say she still believes in dolls. Think, Susan! You've come a long way in the five months since you first began putting away childish fantasies. Do you really want to throw away all that progress?"

Susan grew worried, "Well, no, but—"

"Then take my advice. Decline Hattie's invitation. Here," he handed her a folded paper, "I grabbed an extra copy of the article for you, and just to prove I only have your best interests in mind, you don't even have to discuss it with me tonight. Stay home and read it by yourself, and we can talk about it tomorrow."

Susan accepted the article and smiled coyly at Benton. "Stay at home and read, eh? By myself? Benton, one would think you mean to make a hermit out of me!"

Benton returned her smile, "Not a hermit, but I mean to help you grow in safe shelter so that when you are among your peers, you will not be bandied about by whims and opinions. Instead, I would have you well-informed, so that you can hold your own thoughts and beliefs without compromise. You _will _become a strong adult woman, Susan. I see that capacity in you."

Susan felt a small glow inside her at the praise. Benton was a very insightful young man. "All right," she said.

"You will read it?"

"Yes; I need to go now, but we will talk tomorrow."

"All right; see you tomorrow, Susan."

"Good-bye."

_**Chapter 2**_

Melanie, on her hands and knees in the kitchen, saw a movement out of the corner of her eye. She smiled and waved at Susan, who had just returned from school. The deaf girl finished mopping and turned upstairs to check through all the bedrooms, tidying the messes, straightening the beds, and making sure everything was neat and orderly. In spite of being spurned by an entire community, Melanie love neatness and order. She thrived on maintaining a clean environment.

She finished all the bedrooms, but she noticed one more door in the hallway. Melanie wondered why she had never seen that door. The handle stuck a bit, as if the door had not been touched for many decades, but the door was not locked and still opened. The movement of the door opening unleashed an avalanche of dust, and most of it floated into Melanie's eyes and throat, making her cough and wipe her face. She rubbed her eyes to clear them of dust. A breeze from somewhere lifted her hair back from her face and helped get most of the dust off her. Melanie finally cleared her eyes and blinked.

She was not in the house anymore.


	2. Chapter 2: Telmar Once More

Melanie stared in surprise. She had somehow left evening behind in cold, overcast England and now stood in the middle of a long dirt road in the bright sun of midday. The terrain stretched out for miles on either side, with little beyond the occasional farmhouse or tall crop obstructing the view. Melanie began wandering down the road.

Somehow, she could not shake the feeling that she had seen all this before, only now it was different. As she approached a barn she distinctly pictured the animals inside it, but how was that possible? Another farm she passed looked familiar, but where had she seen it before?

Everything fell into place when she saw the Wood. Yes! She had returned to Telmar! She ran into the woods, remembering: there she saw the creek, the knoll, and the tree she fell through her very first minute in Telmar. There she saw the path; it looked more worn than she remembered, but no matter. Finally, she made it to the other side of the wood, and there she beheld it!

Wait... a schoolhouse? That was unfamiliar. Melanie laughed as she realized whose school it was. Taurin finally had his school. She desired to surprise him. She ran around the side of the small, simple, one-room building and pushed on the front door. It would not open.

"Taurin!" she called, pounding on the door, but her cries received no answer.

Melanie shrugged; perhaps he wasn't teaching that day. She was confident she could find him—or at least his parents—at home.

She ran to the barn first. "Taurin! Marven! It is I, Melanie!" Her voice echoed in the darkness. The animals were the only creatures to return her calls, but their responses were those of fear and not of familiarity. Melanie thought it odd for the men to be done with the work so early in the day, but perhaps they had taken a holiday. She ran to the house.

It was locked! Melanie pounded on the door. "Britta! Marven! Taurin! Is anyone home? Can anyone hear me? It's Melanie, remember? I've come back! Hello?"

Her voice cracked from the strain of yelling. How strange that the whole family would be gone! Was it a market-day? Melanie had only one way of confirming this fact. She trudged back out to the road and began following it on foot toward town.

The afternoon sun beat down upon her back, but she did not want to rest until she discovered what had become of her Telmarine family.

Melanie had walked for at least an hour when she heard the clatter of a horse and wagon behind her. She moved to the side of the road to let it pass, but the driver only pulled up alongside her and called, "Oy! Where might you be going, fair maid?"

Melanie turned her head up to look at him, though she did not stop walking. She shielded her eyes against the evening sun. "I am going into town," she said.

The man whistled and tipped his hat back on his head. "That's a powerful long ways. Do you intend to walk the whole distance?"

Melanie smiled, "If you are offering a ride, I would not be disinclined to accept it."

"Well then!" the man burst out jovially, "Come on up, my pretty lass!" He reached out a hand to assist Melanie as she grasped the edge of the wagon. Soon she was comfortably seated and traveling at a much faster pace than walking. She glanced in the back of the wagon and saw it was full of jars, vases and other clay wares. This man, she ascertained, was a potter.

A very happy potter, judging by the way he whistled in time with the horses' hoof-beats. Presently, they came upon a signpost. The potter paused to read them, and chose the direction that indicated the marketplace. "Yes ma'am, this way to market," he said, snapping the reins and urging the horses down the correct path. It was not long before they reached the center of town, preceded by a large banner reading _Welcome to the Market of Nast _in large, colorful letters. The potter read this aloud as well.

Melanie grinned. "You read very well," she complimented.

The old potter blushed, "Oh, I'm a new student. The children, now, they're a mite faster than we adults are, but they say I'm among the quickest of the lot! Perhaps when the schoolmaster returns, I'll finally be able to learn how to pen my name!" His face glowed with excitement.

Melanie's quick ears caught a bit of information that interested her. "The schoolmaster is gone?"

The potter nodded. "The school's been closed for a while now; but no matter about that. Tell me lass, what brings you to the market? A shopping trip? I see you have naught to trade. Do you have coins to spend? It's what the merchants will be wanting."

Melanie shook her head. "I am only going to town to find an old friend. Do you know Taurin, the son of Marven the farmer?"

The potter stared at her with a surprised expression she did not understand. "By that you mean _Sir_ Taurin, don't you? He was the schoolmaster until dear Lord Fausberg took ill. Nowadays he lives at the castle. He's the heir apparent to Lord Fausberg, you know."

Melanie raised her eyebrows. "_Sir_ Taurin?" she echoed. Before she had been thinking how little had changed in five months, yet now she began to realize how much had actually changed.

The farmer halted the wagon, "Well, this is as far as I go, young passenger!" He helped Melanie disembark.

"Thank you, sir!" she cried gaily, "but before we part, I would be very much obliged to you if you could point me to the castle."

The potter pointed to the far side of the marketplace, where Melanie could just see the tall spires of the castle extending beyond the village housetops. "Just keep them spires in your sights, and you'll get there all right."

"Thank you again, and good day!" Melanie waved.

"Fare thee well, lady!"

The young girl turned her eyes toward the spires, excited with the hope of reuniting with Taurin.

At long last, Melanie climbed the stone steps to the great oaken door of the castle of Nast. Lifting the ornate iron knocker (shaped like a bull's head, with the knocker forming the ring in its nose), she swung it against the door. A small window in the door opened and the doorkeeper hollered, "Who knocks?"

"Melanie, and old friend of Sir Taurin who desires to see him again!" Melanie called in reply.

There was silence from the door for a very long time. "Lady Melanie?" The voice finally spoke in a tone of wonderment, "One moment, please."

Melanie heard the _clank _of a large bolt being drawn, and the great door slowly swung open. The doorkeeper was an older man, not wizened, but grey-haired, with a kindly face and gentle hands as he led Melanie through the door and bowed low.

"At last you return, Milady. Sir Taurin has long awaited and hoped for this day."

He turned and beckoned to a pageboy standing nearby. "Conduct Lady Melanie into the presence of Sir Taurin."

The boy's eyebrows shot upward. "Lady Melanie?" he breathed.

The doorkeeper gave him a small push. "Go now," he said. The boy bowed respectfully to Melanie. "Right this way, ma'am."

All this attention made Melanie wonder. And why had the doorkeeper spoken of Taurin's anticipation as if it had been five ages—or even five years—instead of only five months? She dismissed these thoughts as they approached two tall, ornately carved doors. The pageboy turned to Melanie, "He is within," he said, and left Melanie with a bow.

Melanie placed her hands on the doorknobs, took a deep breath, and flung them wide open.

"Well, Taurin, I should say you've done quite well for yourself!"

Taurin started up from his decidedly un-royal position on the couch: heels planted on the cushions, knees bent revealing the tops of his silk stockings under his trousers, and long arms flung across his face. Everything about this spoke of his frustration and discomfort. Upon hearing Melanie, however, he jumped like a frightened animal and clutched wildly at the pillows, eyes wide with amazement tinged with horror.

"Melanie!" he gasped, "Is it really you, after all this time?"

Melanie laughed and sat next to the boy so soon grown into a man, it seemed. "Oh, Taurin! How you do talk! It can't have been longer than five months at least, and look at you! All decked out in ruffles and silks, and all grown into a man! How are your parents? Is the school a success? Do tell me all!"

Taurin persisted in looking at her with wide eyes. "Five months, Melanie? Is that all? The sun must take a different route in your Eenland, for in your five months ten _years_ have passed in Telmar."

Melanie felt her heart skip a beat at Taurin's words. "Ten years?" she gasped.

Taurin nodded. "You saved Lord Fausberg's life. Apparently, those men fully intended to kill him, but you stopped them. Lord Fausberg intended to reward you, but you had disappeared. I saw you fall into a pool, but when you didn't surface, I was afraid you drowned. His Lordship ordered men to swim down into the pool to perhaps find your body, but they did not. From this we knew you survived. Lord Fausberg issued a provincial search for you. Every Nastian searched for you, but after five years, the fervor died in most areas," Taurin smiled, "except home. Mother kept hoping even when others began to believe they would never see you again. I confess I wanted you to come back almost as much as she did, at least to help teach at my school."

Melanie's face lit up, "Oh yes! Your school! Is it a success?"

Taurin smiled as well, "Oh Melanie, the school is exactly what I've been dreaming about most of my life! It started with only the children, but as I taught them more, the parents began coming along with their children, to learn reading and writing for themselves. Then I had adults coming and wanting to learn who had no children. I've had my hands full ever since my parents died three years ago."

Melanie's face fell. "Oh, Taurin, I'm so sorry!"

Taurin bit his lip. "Mother and father never forgot you, Melanie. They both reminded me in their last moments to keep waiting for you. They said to tell you this if I ever saw you again, but if not, to speak of you to my children. They loved you, Melanie."

The two friends sat in somber silence for some time. Taurin jerked up straight as if his seat had caught fire. "Oh! But you're here now! I must take you to Lord Fausberg!"

He took her by the hand and led her back into the hallway, talking as he went.

"Lord Fausberg took ill earlier this year, and since I was the heir apparent, I had to close the school and come live here. I've been doing my best to fill his shoes since then, and I swear it's been absolutely _miserable, _but now that you're here . . ."

He left off mid-sentence as he led Melanie into a massive bedchamber.

There on the tall, elaborately carved bed laid the Lord of Nast, looking almost as he did the first time Melanie saw him, if paler in skin and whiter in hair. His eyes were closed until Taurin said, "Milord! It's Melanie, she has returned!"

Lord Fausberg opened his eyes and smiled weakly at the young girl. "So, this is my young champion, eh? Come here, child."

Melanie approached the huge bed. Fausberg took her hands in his. She noted a strange light in his eyes as he stared long at her. Melanie caught herself wondering if one could discern another's thoughts through their eyes.

"You will be my heir," Lord Fausberg said decidedly, "and you will rule Nast when I die."


	3. Chapter 3: Free

_**Chapter 3**_

For the second time that day, Melanie's heart leapt into her throat. At first she could not speak for shock, and it was with great difficulty that she finally found her voice.

"Me? The Lady of Nast? But, Sir! I am only a young girl! And you do not know me! I am not a citizen of this country."

Fausberg smiled, "On the contrary, I know you better than you think.

"When you first came into Beren Wood, Melanie, I was there. I saw you and knew by your manner that you were unlike any Telmarine, Narnian, Archenlander, or Calormene I had ever met. I knew you were special, and I wanted to find out more about you. I enlisted this man to help."

Melanie found her shock compounded when Fausberg pointed at Taurin, the one she had assumed to take personal interest in her. "You!" she gasped at Taurin, "You were _spying _on me?"

Taurin's brow creased with concern. "Melanie, I truly was interested in you as a friend. I wanted to know you even before Lord Fausberg approached me. Please believe me."

His eyes pleaded, but Melanie's confidence had suffered a terrible blow. Just how much did this stranger know? Could she ever trust Taurin with personal information again? And now there was the matter of becoming the Lady of Nast. Melanie reminded her self that Lucy Pevensie had been queen at a much younger age, but Melanie knew that Lucy's history—not to mention her social standing—was vastly higher than her own. For this reason, Melanie felt compelled to tell Lord Fausberg, "Sir, please know that I hold you in the highest respect, and I truly wish Nast to be successful. It is because of this I feel it necessary to refuse your most generous gift. Taurin, as a citizen of your province, and well acquainted with your customs and laws, would I think be better suited for such a position." Melanie nearly choked on the lump forming in her throat as she finished, "I am not worthy to lead Nast."

Fausberg stared at her, very confused. He glanced at Taurin, who immediately took Melanie by the elbow. "I will speak with her privately, Milord," he said. He led Melanie back out to the hall.

The poor girl was tortured by her own memories as the mention of her unworthiness brought visions of Them before her mind's eye. _Go away!_ she thought, _Leave me alone!_

But They would not leave, and remained, sneering at her, accusing her, putting her _in her place where she belonged._

Suddenly, among Their leering faces, Melanie saw Taurin's kind face. The other faces dissipated like darkness around a candle. "Melanie," he pleaded, "what are you doing? Why do you refuse His Lordship?"

"I'm not w-worthy!" The words unleashed the sobs Melanie had vainly attempted to swallow. She sobbed to Taurin, "You are more worthy than I! You ought to be Lord of Nast!"

"Melanie, I cannot be Lord! I have the school to tend. There is none to teach it if I do not. It has been closed these last few months as I have been here."

"Taurin, I am not worthy!"

"You _are_, Melanie! You are worthy because you saved Lord Fausberg's life!"

Melanie looked at him with wide, tearful, bewildered eyes. "But you were there too!"

"Yet every witness could only identify one person: you. Think Melanie: they identified you as my father's daughter. When they discovered you were gone, I—as the next of kin—was made heir apparent and _forced _to live here! I don't want to be here, Melanie! I want to go back to my school. You must accept this, if only to prevent Gatling from becoming the next Lord of Nast!"

The awfulness of such a day nearly convinced Melanie to accept, if only to prevent such a terrible, conniving man from achieving his diabolical end, but They returned, spurning Melanie in her mind's eye.

"No!" Melanie cried, standing away from Taurin, "I'm not worthy!"

Taurin grabbed her arms, "Melanie, you are worthy for us," he said gently.

Melanie shook her head as tears poured down her face. "No," she sobbed, "_not with what I am."_

The poor girl broke from Taurin's grasp and ran, as it turned out, out into the large castle gardens.

Sobbing brokenly, running blindly, she staggered unseeing through the garden until she collapsed to her knees at the foot of a tall tree. Their faces scowled at her in her mind's eye, and she accepted Their verdict. "I'm not worthy, I'm not worthy!"

"_Child_."

Even in her mind's eye, Melanie saw the Lion, whose resplendent glory silenced all accusations and dispelled every last visage. Melanie opened her tear-filled eyes and raised her head.

Aslan stood before her, his magnificent face full of pity. "Why do you weep, Child?" he asked.

"Aslan," Melanie choked, "they want me to rule Nast, and be a Lady, but I cannot!"

"Why can you not, Child?"

"I . . . I—I'm n-not wo-worthy!" she wept.

"They do not seem to think so, Child. What is it that makes you so unworthy?"

Something within Melanie did not want to admit her deplorable condition to one so powerful, so pure, and so noble; yet something else convinced her that these very qualities were reason enough to tell him.

"I . . . I am . . . I—I'm cu-cu-_cursed_! If I rule this land, I will bring my curse upon them!"

Deep in her heart-of-hearts, Melanie realized how uncommonly insensible such logic was, but They had taught her such things since the day she was born. Why should she believe differently now?

"Melanie." Something in his tone compelled her to look at him.

"Let me tell you a tale: there was once a traitor so consumed with his own desires that he was willing to cheat and deceive his own brother and sisters to attain them. Such betrayal required his death as penalty. This death sentence was as a curse upon him. However, another man, a perfectly innocent one, whose every deed was righteous, stepped in and offered his life in place of the traitor. He died the accursed death, that by the righteous man's death, the law that once condemned the traitor would be fulfilled, and the curse would become a blessing instead."

Such a longing welled up within Melanie that she burst out, "Would that such a righteous one remove my curse!"

Aslan gazed piercingly at Melanie. "One has done so already. I am that Righteous One, the one who died once, but for all: for the traitor, for his family . . . and for you. I died the accursed death, that you might be blessed. This is why I called you to Telmar, Melanie: because I desire to bless Telmar, and I desire specifically to bless it through _you._ Do you believe this to be true?"

Melanie's head spun. It was unbelievable enough that this Righteous Lion could die and come back to life, but even more fantastic was the notion that he did it all with Melanie in mind! Yet—somehow—Melanie found it within herself to hesitatingly say, "Yes, I believe."

"Will you accept the blessing I give you in exchange for your curse?"

Still more hesitant: "Yes . . . I will."

"And do you willingly submit to me, following my direction and allowing me to guide your decisions and to rule your life?"

This was a tall order! But Melanie had by now made up her mind: if she intended to believe in Aslan and accept his blessing, she was going to have to be willing to do whatever he said or asked.

"Yes, I do."

The Lion breathed on her, and it seemed, as Melanie inhaled the heavy, cloying aroma, a great weight lifted off her chest. She breathed deeper than she ever thought she could breathe. She closed her eyes, dwelling fully in that single, glorious moment. When she finally opened them, Aslan was gone, but the world looked brighter.

"I'm free!" she cried.


	4. Chapter 4: A Proper Education

_**Chapter 4**_

A changed Melanie rejoined Taurin in the hallway outside His Lordship's bedchamber. He wondered at her smile when she had been weeping inconsolably only ten minutes previously. Her face glowed with a mysterious light as she declared, "I am ready to accept."

Taurin acknowledged this and led her back into the bedchamber, and gestured for her to come near His Lordship's bedside.

"She is ready, Milord," Taurin told the elderly ruler.

Lord Fausberg's face brightened. "Then you will consent to be my heir?"

Melanie nodded, "Yes, Milord."

"Ring the bell for Brannock, Taurin," Fausberg instructed. Taurin pulled the bell-rope next to him, and Brannock, a portly man with thick, curly grey hair and a dark face, entered the chamber. "Melanie," Fausberg continued, "this is my chief legal advisor, Brannock. Brannock, this is Melanie; she will be my heir. Bring the document."

From some mysterious pocket on his person Brannock produced a scroll and laid it before Melanie. The expression on his face was a strange mixture of revulsion, perplexity, and obeisance. Regardless, he said nothing against His Lordship, who was his master in all things in spite of Brannock's position as Chief Legal Advisor. Melanie glanced over the document before taking up the pen Brannock offered her.

It appeared to be some sort of petition to Lord Protector Landon, informing him of Lord Fausberg's acquisition of an heir. The petition reminded Lord Landon that, according to Telmarine law, the Lord Protector could no longer assure Gatling of the lordship, because there now existed someone in line for the lordship. As a result, Melanie—as the heir—had prerogative over Gatling in spite of the Lord Protector's promise, and any heir she produced also had the same precedence over him. Gatling had two choices: yield, or bide his time until Melanie's line ended. Melanie inscribed her name on the designated line, and Brannock took up the scroll and re-rolled it. "I will send this letter to his Highness the Lord Protector at once."

Lord Fausberg nodded and said, "First be witness to the bequest; you too, Taurin." He took Melanie's hand. "Kneel, child." Melanie obeyed. Lord Fausberg placed a hand on her head and said officiously, "I hereby bestow my abode, estate, position, and title upon Melanie, daughter of Marven" (here Melanie blushed) "that she might inherit it upon the hour of my death. Bear ye witness!"

"I, Taurin, bear witness!"

"I, Brannock, bear witness!"

Lord Fausberg lifted his hand, "Rise, Lady Melanie, heiress of Nast!" Melanie stood. "You have much to learn about the ways and laws of Nast," Fausberg continued, "but I am confident you will learn them well, and become a great leader for this province and its people!"

Melanie bowed, accepting this praise. With Aslan's help, she'd be ready.

The next eight weeks flew by in a flurry of legal, cultural, and governmental lessons for Melanie. An overjoyed Taurin reopened his school after his long hiatus, but he dependably visited the castle at least once a week.

Melanie found herself under the tutelage of a young woman named Leif. Melanie wondered at the odd name, but Leif waved her confusion off good-naturedly.

"It happened that I was the only child of my mother," she explained. "My father wanted a son so badly that he named me a boy's name and taught me as if I were a son, making me do a boy's work around the farm and such. It was hard," she sighed, "but I've gotten over it. Now, let us return to our review of yesterday's lesson: _Telmarine Governmental Policies and Practices Concerning the Hierarchy of Authority._" Melanie forthwith immersed herself in her studies, and thought no more on Leif's history.

Leif, background aside, was truly an adequate and capable teacher for Melanie. In addition to instructing her by the use of books, Leif occasionally accompanied Melanie on excursions around the province, provided for Melanie to increase her familiarity with the terrain and the inhabitants of the land she would rule.

It was on one of these outings, not two weeks since Melanie's lessons began, that Leif suddenly turned to Melanie with a very serious expression on her face. "Melanie, we have become close friends, and I would be honored if you would tell me truly the answer to the question that has been on my mind ever since I first heard about you: where are you from?"

Melanie, who had been expecting something much worse, laughed lightly at the question. "Well, I'm from England," she said.

Leif continued to stare at her strangely. "But where is England? Is it in Narnia? Is it an island in the Northern Sea?"

An odd fear clutched at Melanie's throat; what was her friend and teacher insinuating? "Well, it is an island," she answered vaguely, "and it _is _to the north . . ."

Leif had her cornered, and the woman was very well aware of that fact. "But it's not off the coast of Narnia, is it? It's not anywhere in the whole Great Sea."

Melanie grew very flustered. "And what if it isn't? Why are you so curious about my origins?"

Leif sighed and cocked her head sympathetically. "Now, please don't be angry with me; I am merely curious. As one who has been many places, and seen many things, I have quite a store of knowledge about geography and demographics. But you, Melanie, are quite unlike anyone I've seen in all the world. Come now," she smiled playfully, like a fellow conspirator, "we are alone in this carriage, and no one can hear us. I can be trusted with secrets. Please answer me truthfully, Melanie, for I greatly desire to know: are you from this world or not?"

Melanie hesitated, but only for a minute. "All right, I'll tell you," she sighed. "I—I'm from a different world, Leif. My world is called Earth, and England is a country there."

Leif, contrary to the confidence and knowledgeableness she displayed earlier, was still shocked and a bit scared. "You mean you _are _from a different world?" she gasped. "You're not even from one of the Narnian stars! How did you come to Telmar?"

So in the secrecy of the carriage, Leif became the first Telmarine to know the whole truth of Melanie's origins. Melanie told her about England, about the house, about the door, and about New Telmar. This last location proved especially intriguing to the woman. Leif asked many questions, all about the kind of people living there: how rich were the richest, how poor the poorest, who was the most important, how the community was arranged on the island, and the like. Melanie derived from answering these questions the sort of satisfaction that comes out of being able to teach the teacher.

In spite of having to remember all about New Telmar to be able to answer Leif's questions, Melanie, whose sight was very quick on account of not being able to speak or hear for most of her life, carefully and astutely observed the country around her.

Nast was not very large. Fifty individual properties surrounded the central city, which itself covered the area of about ten average-sized farms. Nearly twice as many people lived in the central village, called the City. Yet in such a small province, Melanie saw many problems.

The merchant guilds constituted the largest of these problems. These shifty traders were constantly finding ways to circumvent the laws and taxes of Nast, and they maintained a firm stranglehold on Nastian commerce. So complex was their control that Lord Fausberg enacted little against them, and though the most obvious solution was to ban their kind entirely, he could never do so, for fear of destroying the economy of Nast. Melanie thought long about how she would solve this problem, should she be called upon to do so.

Her opportunity came sooner than she expected.

Lord Fausberg had been incrementally improving over the first month since Melanie returned, but after this time his health took a fatal turn. Melanie was deeply saddened. As she became better acquainted with the old Lord, she came to consider him a grandfather to her, so wise and caring was he.

On his last day, Lord Fausberg summoned everyone into his bedchamber, including Taurin.

"I am very sorry to leave you all like this," he rasped slowly, frequently pausing for breath between words, "but . . . rest assured . . . I am dest- . . . des-destined for a better place." A coughing fit shook his frail body. "Melanie, come here." Melanie knelt at his bedside, tears filling her eyes. He grasped her hands in his. "I leave Nast in good, capable hands," he said, but then—to Melanie's surprise—he leaned forward till his wheezing breath tickled her ear and whispered that only she might hear, "_This I know, for you have the breath of the Lion upon you._"

Melanie looked at him in surprise. Did Fausberg know Aslan, then? How was that possible? She had little time to wonder, for Lord Fausberg raised his hand as if to speak.

"I—I . . . I-" Another coughing fit overtook him, but this time he had more difficulty recovering. Lord Fausberg suddenly relaxed. "I . . . leave . . ." he said finally, and gently sighed his last breath. Peacefully, Lord Fausberg died.


	5. Chapter 5: The Lion Walks

_**Chapter 5**_

Melanie's first act as Lady of Nast was to decree a two-day period of mourning for Lord Fausberg. This was not difficult to mandate, for the noble Lord was well loved by all, and the whole province mourned his passing. The only people who resented her moratorium on buying, trading, or selling were a few of the merchants, who grumbled complaints about "fairness" and "earning a decent living." On the whole, no one resented enough to rebel, and Nast was business-free for two days, at least on the surface.

At the end of the second day, Melanie sat in the grand bedchamber, now refurnished for her. She turned when she heard a familiar growl. "Aslan!" she cried happily.

"It is time for you to lead Nast," he said gravely.

"No," Melanie corrected, "_we _shall lead Nast. I'm ready to do whatever you want me to do. What shall I accomplish first?"

Aslan's tail flicked back and forth. "Come to the window, Melanie."

She joined him, and it happened at that very moment, a merchant finished "conducting business" with a debtor: he took the poor man's horse and wagon and dismissed him without so much as a button to his name.

Aslan growled at the injustice. "These people are severely oppressed. These merchants have no interest in justice, and support neither this province nor this nation. They are leeches, sucking the livelihood of the host for their own profit. They must be removed."

Melanie considered this carefully. "How shall it be done?" she asked.

"You must close the marketplace and allow me to drive them out. The marketplace must remain closed until all the merchant guilds and clans are gone."

Melanie pondered this. What if the merchants refused to leave? How long would the market be closed? She did not know the answers to these questions, but she knew at least one thing: because Aslan said it, it must be done, and because Aslan said he would do it, it _would _be done. "Let it be as you have said," she replied.

"Summon your captain of the guard and tell him to direct the closing of the marketplace."

Melanie nodded and rang the bell. A page appeared. "Summon the Captain of the guard," she instructed the boy.

The page disappeared, only to return minutes later followed by Captain Pareshin of the Royal Guard.

"Captain," Melanie ordered, "gather a company and close the marketplace. Post official declarations at all inroads to this effect: _By order of Her Ladyship, Lady Melanie, the marketplace is closed to all forms of business. No person of any rank may use the square as a place of business of any kind, be it selling, buying, or trading, until further notice by Her Ladyship. Any persons attempting to enact business will be arrested._ Post guards at each entryway, and keep a careful watch."

The captain bowed, but his expression was one of confusion. "Yes Milady," he said slowly, "it shall be as you command, but . . . permit me to inquire your reasons?"

Melanie cast a glance toward Aslan, but the Lion had disappeared. "I will permit the question," she told Pareshin, "but it is not for you to know the answer yet. Merely obey the orders, and you will know the reasoning behind them when the time is right."

"Milady, the market-square is already closed, out of respect for the late Lord Fausberg."

Melanie remembered the two-day mourning period she had set, but she also remembered the "business transaction" she had witnessed with Aslan. It occurred to her that there were some on whom written warnings would have no effect. Official documents do not always deter greed. "Even so," she said to Captain Pareshin, "there are those who would circumvent my commands. Have your men keep careful watch, and see that everything is carried out as I have ordered. Allow no one desiring to do business with another—least of all the merchants and traders—in or out of the square. Set up a rotation of the guard as you see fit, for I want your men on full alert at all times."

Pareshin bowed. "It will be as you command, Milady."

Melanie reclined on the couch after the Captain departed. She had fulfilled her duty. Now she merely needed to wait as Aslan fulfilled his. Melanie did not doubt he would.

Shiloq the land-trader reclined upon a couch of fine silk pillows, examining his rings. How beautifully they sparkled in the light of twenty bronze lamps! His wife, Shatiya, entered his apartment. How divine she looked, arrayed in a silk wrap and fur slippers! Large earrings of pure gold set with jet adorned her ears. A collar of gold set with jet and rubies encircled her bronze throat. Her ethereal appearance was marred somewhat, however, by the eloquent frown on her delicate face.

"Why is my angel so downcast?" Shiloq murmured as Shatiya cast herself onto the pillows next to him.

"Oh-the-delight-of-my-eyes-and-the-king-of-my-house," she replied, lauding him Calormene-style in a voice that did not mean a word of it, "Your angel weeps because she must dress in rags in spite of your toils."

Shiloq leered at his wife greedily and stroked the soft skin of her bare arm, pausing to run his oily fingers over the gold bands on it just below the shoulder. "Does my goddess desire that her lowly minion strive the more, to adorn her suitable to her inimitable stature?"

Shatiya shrugged away from his pawing, greasy hands petulantly. "Nothing like that, husband!" she rolled her eyes. "I only _wish _the little farmer's brat would lift the horrid embargo she's put on since the old Lord died. I do so _need_ a new dress," she pouted, but turned and began stroking Shiloq's face coquettishly, "as this one will be a week old tomorrow." Her articulate eyes plainly challenged the merchant, _What are you going to do about my problem?_

"Do not fret, beloved," Shiloq said with a wicked smile as a plan formed in his mind. "One person, such as this farm-lady who now resides in the castle, cannot have her eyes everywhere, and our brotherhood is numerous. Tomorrow, I can arrange events so that some of our people divert the attention of the authorities, the market will be ours within the first hour of the prohibition's expiration, and my dulcet pet shall have all that her incorruptible heart desires. Does this please you, my adulation?"

In reply, Shatiya took his face in her hands and kissed it. "Truly Shiloq is most cunning among merchants!" she cried.

Shiloq grinned proudly, "One cannot be a land agent without one's cunning, my jewel." He extended his arm without rising and daintily struck a silver chime next to his couch. A servant bowed into his presence from some dark corner of the room, where several more awaited any command from their master. "Fetch us wine, for we rule the marketplace come the morning!" he ordered raucously, already drunk with visions of the success of his plan.

The servant wordlessly crossed to the small stand on which stood a gold pitcher full of strong wine from the wild lands south of Calormen. The servant filled two crystal goblets stemmed with jewels and brought them near his master's hand on a silver platter.

Shiloq never got his wine.

As he was reaching for it, a strong, deep voice warned, "Shiloq, your time has come."

Instantly, his numerous gold rings transformed into hideous worms and maggots. Shatiya shrieked as the earrings she wore transformed into enormous beetles and dropped to her shoulders, where they crawled disgustingly down her dress. She ceased her noise as her necklace turned into a black- and red-banded, hissing viper. Servants rushed in with bows to report the circumstances: every piece of finery in Shiloq's possession had turned into some nasty insect or other crawling creature. All of his gold, which he had so cleverly extorted from all the farmers, turned into a teeming mass of ants and scuttled away, and all the merchandise he planned to sell altered in like manner and either killed the men standing near it or crept, slithered, and crawled away.

"_Aaiieee!" _Shiloq screamed, "It is a curse come upon us! Our time has come! We must leave at once!"

He stormed out of the apartment amid the wails and shouts of his brotherhood, and began ordering the servants and clansmen to load the wagons with what was left.

"But Brother Shiloq!" one of the men who had escaped unscathed called out to the terrified merchant as the said land-agent scraped the slimy worms from his fingers and screamed for a handmaiden to assist his wife, who had fainted just before the viper slithered away. "We will lose our place in the market, and what about our clients!"

"May this curse be upon them!" Shiloq retorted. "Who knows but it will worsen if we remain! Load the wagons with what you can! Let us leave before the very lamps turn to vermin!"

The instant the words left his mouth, Shiloq regretted them. He turned, horrified, and saw that the twenty bronze lamps were now twenty fat, smelly, repugnant rats with little flames on their tails. Shiloq lifted the skirts of his robe as the rats ran from the apartment between his ankles. "_WE LEAVE NOW!" _he bellowed.

One hour later, the buildings once occupied by the riotous clan of Shiloq stood bare and silent in the dawning light.

A servant informed Melanie at breakfast that one of the merchant clans had fled during the night. The Lady smiled secretly. She knew who had done this thing. "Very well," she told the servant, "Tell Captain Pareshin to maintain his guard." The servant bowed and left to deliver the message.

That night, before going to bed, Melanie remembered the Lion as she gazed up at the gorgeous stars in the Telmarine sky. "Aslan," she whispered into the still air, "do you walk tonight?"  
A sweet-smelling gust of wind blew her face back, as a Voice said, "I walk."


	6. Chapter 6: The Raid

_**Chapter 6**_

The next morning, the sun rose to reveal a second clan—in the middle of the midnight revelry so common among the uncouth merchants—dead around their tables, some even with food and drink still clutched in their stiff, cold hands.

Once again, Melanie stood at her bedroom window, asked, "Aslan, do you walk tonight?" and heard him reply, "I walk."

That night, a third clan was driven out of town by unseen visions. Village gossip reported hearing strange wailings coming from the clan about vengeful farmers plowing them like weeds, and weavers unraveling the tents, to destroy them.

Melanie received these reports from various servants. She smiled each time. _Three gone, four to go,_ she thought. _At this rate, we could reopen the marketplace by next week!_

True to pattern, over the next two days, as Melanie sought Aslan in the night, two clans departed, badly frightened. The second night, a terrible cry went up among the tribe, something nearly unintelligible about a "great animal" that terrified them all. Melanie stuck the bell next to her throne. A servant appeared.

"Tell Pareshin we may be able to reopen the market by the weekend."  
The servant grinned. He anticipated a celebratory free day in the marketplace to satisfy his desires. But . . . he worried that there would be no merchants left once the marketplace reopened.  
The messenger forgot his worries as he entered the tent where Captain Pareshin and his guards slept between rotations. The captain looked exhausted. The servant was glad to give him good news. "Her Ladyship says that we may be able to reopen the marketplace by the weekend."  
Captain Pareshin nodded. Somehow, this young foreigner had managed to accomplish in her first week what the Lords of Nast had spent generations attempting.  
"It is good," he replied heavily. "My men are wasted, even with the rotations. There are too many alleys and not enough men. But something seems to happen every night. We will wait for the end of the week, in two days."  
The servant left the tent, glancing over his shoulder just in time to see one solder relieve another. Neither appeared very alert. Poor souls! The way the rotation had to be set, each soldier only had a few hours to sleep before he needed to relieve a compatriot, if he had slept at all. The servant was glad their suffering would end soon.

That night . . . nothing happened. Two merchant clans still remained.

Melanie wondered at this, but did not fret over it. She considered herself too busy with plans of reforming Nast. Wracking her brain for memories of New Telmar (ages ago, it felt like!) and how the society and economy worked there, and sought to fashion a system similar to that.

Her friend and mentor Leif proved especially instrumental in these plans. The good woman had the ability to ask questions about New Telmar in just such a way as to bring the memories clearly and swiftly to Melanie's mind. Such was her concentration on these plans and memories that, for the first time in a week, Melanie forgot to ask Aslan if he would walk. Still, she waited with growing expectation for him to act.

But no dramatic rousting occurred. The next day came and went but the two groups remained, laughing and carousing as if they had outwitted the curses and spirits that had driven away the others.  
Finally, at the end of the last day of the week, Captain Pareshin presented himself before Melanie with a report of the doings of the villagers. "It seems one of my men may have overheard your messenger, and the message he misheard has passed from ear to ear through the entire city. Consequently, many people believe the markets will be open tomorrow morning."  
Melanie sighed. "But the merchants are still there! I cannot open the markets until they are gone, and yet if I do not, it will appear that I have broken a promise, which I meant as merely a conditional statement from the first!" The girl rested her chin on her palm.  
"The difficulties of doing the right thing without appearing to do something wrong," the captain sympathized understandingly. "Your Ladyship, if you will permit me, I can execute a plan that will rid us of the merchants in a single night. I'll not tell you many details, so in the unlikely event of trouble, you will not be implicated. In light of this, would you be willing to grant me permission?"  
Melanie shook her head. "Captain, I know this . . . spirit that is haunting the merchants. I have my own instructions, and those are to wait until this spirit has finished its work."

"Meanwhile the whole town is readying to begin the market tomorrow at sunrise! Perhaps this spirit of yours would not object to some . . . small assistance."

Melanie considered the logic of this request. Aslan was so kind, so loving and so noble, she figured, why wouldn't he allow them to help him? Could that be the reason he tarried? She gazed at her captain seriously. "I want no bloodshed," she said.

"I will set parameters and instruct my men so to avoid it completely."

Melanie wrestled over it in her mind for a long time before conceding, "You have my permission."

Captain Pareshin bowed, "Thank you, Milady." He left to prepare a special contingent for a raid on the merchants' camp that night.


	7. Chapter 7: Gossip is Never Idle

_**Chapter 7**_

Every village has a gossip, and Nast was no exception. If anything occurred out of the normal, dull lives of Nastians, you could be sure Gretal knew about it. What was more, she dispensed the news as readily as she acquired it. The day the market was supposed to open, the City of Nast discovered that, for the first time since the beginning of commercial business, the market remained closed. Gretal overheard a spice-merchant grumbling about all his wares spoiling, and a seller of cloth yelled to his wife, "Ever since that foreign Lady's come to power, we merchants have suffered! It isn't enough that others have died, and fallen ill, and their goods have spoiled or some ghost or spirit has haunted them. Now her own soldiers destroy our merchandise on the very eve of the supposed market-day!"  
Away went Miss Gretal, to her friend Saralee, a milliner. "Did you know?" she asked busily, after the obligatory salutations, "I just heard: the Lady is behind all the troubles! She's been using her soldiers to drive out the merchants."  
Saralee prided herself in being a judicious individual, not given to believe just _anybody_, but you see, Gretal couldn't be placed in the category of "just anybody."  
"Oh, Gretal!" Saralee gasped, "Are you quite sure?"  
Gretal nodded firmly. "As sure as I'm standing here, Saralee! You know I wouldn't lie to you." Her errand accomplished, Gretal bustled back out the door to lend her eyes and ears to other matters.  
If Gretal was the town telegraph, Saralee was her relay station. Thus bestowed with such a choice morsel of gossip, Saralee found herself irresistibly compelled to distribute it fully among the patrons of her shop, who no longer came for her wares, but only to trade and perhaps receive more coins from the merchants in the square for her work than Saralee herself did. Ergo, it was not long after breakfast when a servant came before Lady Melanie.  
"What is that commotion outside?" she asked.  
"Many villagers have spread the rumor that you had a hand in last night's events, Milady," the servant replied. "The merchants have been affirming it as well. The noise you hear is the cry of a crowd gathered at the foot of the stairs."  
"Summon Captain Pareshin." While she waited for the servant's return, Melanie crossed to a window overlooking the main courtyard of the castle, from which she could see the gate, and hear the crowd behind it. Though they could do naught against the stone walls and the ironbound door, they pounded upon these with their fists, chanting, "Bring down the Lady! Down with the foreigner! Foreign curse! She is a curse upon us! Cursed Lady! Cursed foreigner! Bring her down!"  
The sound of a step behind her alerted Melanie to Pareshin's arrival. She whirled around, intending to give him a thorough tongue-lashing, (she was not at all pleased at being called a curse in both the New Telmar and the old), but the sight of his bandaged knee and the sling on his arm gave her a pause. Instead of berating him, she tersely demanded, "Now that all of Nast has connected me with last night's events, suppose you enlighten me as to the details of what I am being accused!" She looked at him severely.  
The old captain bowed his head. "Believe me, Your Ladyship, I took _every _precaution not to be seen, and not to threaten the merchants' persons at all. We had our swords to ruin the merchandise, and that was all I intended they be used for, but . . ." he sighed heavily as a gust of wind brought the shouts clearer through the window. He crossed to the other side of the room, where another window overlooked the marketplace. Melanie joined him as he pointed to the far corner, where a small troupe already opened a brightly colored tent with a large, colorful sign that Melanie couldn't read.  
"In addition to the merchants, the guild we attacked housed a small carnival troupe. Among their number they had a seer, one who supposedly tells fortunes. Well, he certainly thought he told ours last night! We were not twenty paces from the camp, preparing to fall upon the crates of merchandise, when the seer cried out, 'The destroyer is in our midst! They go after our goods, and our lives will be next!' Of _course _the merchants pour out, armed and ready, and see our swords, which served to verify the seer's words. We were forced to defend ourselves." Pareshin gestured to his knee and arm. "I am not the worst wounded. It is by some strange chance that none of us died, but many of the small company are now imperiled by their wounds."  
Melanie watched the moneychangers setting up their tables, the merchants already conducting business, and the enraged crowd. She slumped against the wall, covering her face with her hands. "It wasn't supposed to be this way!" she wailed. What would Aslan say? What would she _do_? "Captain, how many men do you still have unwounded and unwearied?"  
"Well over two hundred men still remain at your service, Milady."  
"One hundred will do; lead them into the square. You must close the market once more. Do _not _under _any _circumstances harm any person, or I shall have his head who does. Turn over the tables, spoil the merchandise, and the merchants out of Nast, and for heaven's sake, drive away the mob yelling at my door! We must correct the mistakes we've made."  
Captain Pareshin bowed. "It shall be done, Milady."

Twenty minutes later, a company of one hundred soldiers poured out from the gate, fifty mounted and fifty on foot. The crowd soon fled screaming, and the soldiers turned upon the outraged merchants without heeding their outraged exclamations. They obeyed the word of their Lady, turning over the tables, scattering the merchandise, and trampling it under foot and hoof, yet not harming any of the people. The mounted soldiers surrounded the merchants and herded them out of the city. Some had the presence of mind to escape on the wagons in which they had come, and these soon attracted the running merchants, who threw themselves over the sides, often requiring their friends to help them into the wagon-bed. The soldiers did not slack their pace, but drove the merchants and wagons on, all the way to the border between Nast and the neighboring colony, Venna. Captain Pareshin halted the men at the border and called after the retreating merchants, "By the order of Lady Melanie, no man among you may ever return into Nast, on pain of imprisonment or death. Heed ye!"  
Some merchants replied with nasty remarks about Lady Melanie which I shall not print, but the rest were so worn out they could not speak, but wearily trudged into Venna.  
Meanwhile, in the town, the foot soldiers had cleared out the square and stood guard at each alleyway leading to the square as the town crier stood on a high platform in the middle of the square where everyone could hear his announcement.  
"Hear ye! _The Lady Melanie, Regent of the Province of Nast, has ordered that the marketplace be hereby closed until an official proclamation is made. Any persons attempting to buy, sell, trade, or traffic goods in any manner before any such declaration will be brought before Her Ladyship on charges of insubordination. _Heed ye!"  
"We heed!" the villagers replied.

Melanie, watching from her window, heard all and leaned back, satisfied. Someone behind her cleared his throat. She turned to behold a pageboy. "Yes, what is it?" she asked.

"Please, Milady, there is a guild just come, and their leader seeks an audience with Your Ladyship."  
Intrigued, Melanie replied, "Take me to them." She followed the young boy down to the courtyard, where stood the sorriest-looking guild she had yet seen.  
Their hair was unkempt, the people and animals painfully thin, and one of the many-times-broken-and-ill-repaired wagons smelt awfully of rotten foods. One of the men, a gaunt, spectral figure whose clothes—once undoubtedly fine silks and material as would befit a merchant—hung in dirty tatters from his haggard frame, stood away from the rest and knelt before Melanie.  
"Hail thou, Lady of Nast!" he said in a weary voice, as one physically spent, "May your province flourish under your rule!"  
Melanie blushed at the praise, yet looked squarely into the man's sunken, glassy eyes. "What are your intentions here, sir?" she asked.  
The man stood, but kept a humble, respectful posture. "If it please your Ladyship, I am but a merchant, Galor by name, who desires for the present nothing more than to rest after the long journey we have made, perhaps restock our supply in the market over a few days, after which we—with your Ladyship's permission—would do what we could to contribute to the economy, and conduct business out of only a small corner."  
An alarm went off in Melanie's mind at the words _conduct business._ "I have just issued a formal proclamation and closed the marketplace. I intend to make an end to all you merchants coming in, buying at a pittance, and selling at exorbitant rates, effectually robbing from already-poor citizens. I am afraid you have come too late."  
Galor's face fell so low, Melanie wondered if he would collapse in the dirt at her feet. "Oh, your Ladyship! Please do not send us away! We come from afar, in Ettinsmoor, and we have traveled through dangerous lands in Narnia and Archenland to reach this land, with only the intentions of enriching the commerce. As you can see, we have allowed our health, our food, and our clothes to spoil, but we have taken great pains to preserve our wares for the use of your people! If you send us away, oh merciful Lady, I fear we will not survive the return expedition." His tone was pleading, pathetic, and sincere. Melanie even thought she saw tears in his eyes. She did not doubt his word, yet she knew she must remain firm, in case Aslan should return and find her disobeying orders!  
She replied to Galor, "Very well, then; I will see to it that my servants give you fresh food and clothing, and you may sojourn a few days in one of the apartments recently vacated by the previous merchants. During this time I will consider your request. Once you and your clan are rested and satisfied, you may come before me, and we will discuss the matter further."  
Galor smiled gratefully. "Oh thank you, Milady! How generous you are!" he gestured back to the company with him, "Hail!" he cried, bowing low. "Hail!" they echoed, following his lead. The girl hid the blush of her embarrassment by merely nodding and retiring into the castle.  
"Milady," Pareshin called. She faced him. "You handled that very well, in my opinion, ma'am." He nodded respectfully before heading to the infirmary to have his wounds tended.  
Melanie sighed. It wasn't handled! All she'd done was stall for more time, with no idea what on earth she would do when Galor and his clan were restored, and not even the slightest hint of Aslan's return. Melanie never bothered asking if he'd walk any more. She wondered if he intended to return at all.


	8. Chapter 8: Guilded Riches

_**Chapter 8**_

Galor and his company wasted no time in moving into the apartments apportioned to him by Lady Melanie.  
The streets of the City were crooked and narrow, and most of the buildings looked so alike that strangers to it often lost themselves in the winding alleys. For one supposedly from the wide plains of Ettinsmoor, Galor seemed rather adept at finding his way through the lanes and roads. They were soon settled comfortably throughout the building. Servants from Lady Melanie brought at least two wagons' worth of clean food and raiment, and the apartment was situated conveniently near a well. With many praises and blessings for Her Ladyship, Galor accepted the gifts and saw the servants away from the building. Once they were out of sight, he instructed one of his men to draw a pail of water for him, and, in the privacy of his own apartment, began to wash.  
I am sure it must have been a sight to see not only the dirt come off with the water, but a bit more scrubbing took off the tired haggardness as well! Galor laughed at his reflection when he finished. It looked as if he had removed ten years of his life and darkened his skin, all with a common sponge! His comrades washed as well, and took care afterwards not to show their faces outside. A completely different group than the one Melanie showed compassion on now met in the apartments she had given them that evening.  
"So, Brother Galor, do we prepare to set up tomorrow?"  
Galor smiled and shook his head. "I know how eager you all are. We are men of Eveston, the grand jewel of Telmar! It was much too easy to slip out of the city in the dead of night, while the spirit drove our comrades out by force. It was simple to find a field invisible from the castle, rend our own clothes, distress our wagons, and leave our food out to rot while we painted our faces to appear destitute. Lady Melanie is a soft, compassionate young girl, but she is also wise. How will it appear if we—a group of starving men and women—are suddenly hale overnight? No, Brother Finno; we will bide our time, partaking of Her Ladyship's hospitality, for three days. Meanwhile, I want every one of you wooing the villagers: do services for them, pay them compliments, and the like. If I make my guess aright, Lady Melanie will want to know what we are like while she is considering our request. If the report is favorable, we may be able to sway her."

Just as Galor predicted, Melanie did not sit idly by while the strangers recuperated. She regularly polled random villagers for their opinions of the newcomers, and often went out herself, in disguise, to catch a glimpse of the merchants.  
Because of the guild's loyalty to Galor, everything Melanie saw and heard impressed her. She watched them helping the other villagers, and keeping the apartment tidy. At night she never heard them carousing and carrying on as the other merchants were wont to do. Hence, when the three days were past, and Lady Melanie sent a summons to Galor inviting him and his two top officials to a banquet, Galor was fully confident that the young Lady was, as he confided to Finno, "ripe for the picking." He called his second closest companion, a swarthy man named Durk, and told them of his plan to pick this ripe fruit of Nast.

Lady Melanie sat in a tall chair before the long, sumptuously laid banquet table. Presently, the butler announced, "Presenting a delegation from the Moorish guild of Galor!"  
Melanie smiled in welcome as Galor—looking much stronger and healthier since the last time she saw him—approached, followed by Finno and Durk.

All three bowed. "Hail, Lady Melanie!" Galor cried. "We are indebted forever to your kindness and generosity!"

Melanie felt especially benevolent as she gestured to the table. "Please, sit and eat," she invited them. Her guests obediently sat at the table and ate.

About halfway through the meal, Galor shared a glance with his guild-brothers and said, "Meaning no disrespect to your Ladyship, I wonder if I might inquire as to your decision concerning our fate."

Melanie paused. There it was; she'd been dreading this moment. "I have banned all business of that sort in the City," she reminded him. "Verily, I am in the process of abolishing the merchant trade in Nast. We are quite self-sufficient as matters stand."

Galor's hopeful expression melted. "Oh, but Milady, I assure you we shall live only for the benefit of the province and of you!"

"I believe you, for I have been observing you these three days; but my policy still remains."

"If you have been observing us, you know how we have treated your people, and how we have taken pains to associate among them, and not seclude ourselves." He paused for effect. "Incidentally, it was only the other day that I heard something truly amazing concerning your Ladyship; so amazing, that we can only assume it is gossip unless you can enlighten us as to the truth."

His eyes were so clever and teasing, that Melanie could not help returning with a merry grin, "Tell me what you have heard and I shall do my utmost to ascertain whether they are true."

Galor shrugged nonchalantly, "Oh, it wasn't anything very serious at all. They say you were the one who called out the Spirit that drove all the other merchants away; is this true?"

Melanie's smile dropped as she regained her decorum. "To an extent, Galor; while it is true I know this Spirit, I am a servant of his, and not his master."

"Then perhaps this Spirit would permit you to let us stay if we offered gifts." The merchant's mysterious expression piqued Melanie's curiosity.

"Gifts?" she echoed.

Galor nodded and produced a small chest he had prepared for exactly this moment. Sliding on silk gloves, he unlocked the small, carved chest and pried back the lid.

Melanie gasped at what she saw: the small box nearly overflowed with gold and jewels of every color that glowed so brightly with their own light that all the fine decorations of the room seemed dark and pale in comparison.

"These are our finest treasures," Galor whispered suavely, "handed down from the first generation of our guild." He picked up a ruby and let it shimmer in his palm before placing it back atop the other treasures. It struck the gold coin with an almost musical sound. "Would not your Spirit accept them as tribute and allow us to stay?"

Melanie swallowed as the charm of the riches dimmed slightly. "I'm not sure . . ." she began, but Galor closed the chest of treasure with a most humble, pitiful expression.

"Your Ladyship, we are fully prepared to submit to any requirement or restriction you deem appropriate. Only permit us to do business here."

Melanie glanced at the coffer. Did Aslan have any use for treasure? She _could _use the revenue to pay the high taxes and fulfill the debt Nast owed to the other provinces. She had quite forgotten about them in her excitement to set things right in Nast.

"I will allow it," she said slowly at long last, "On the following conditions: that you are subject to all the laws and policies of Nast . . ."

"I will see to it that we do not so much as thing of violating them," Galor promised.

"You will pay tribute of ten percent of your earnings . . ."

"It will be done, Milady."

"You will give a financial report each month to my treasurer, to account for every transaction, in order to prevent usury . . ."

"Yes, Milady, just as you have said."

"You may not carry your business beyond the borders of Nast . . ."

"Oh no; we would not even dream of it! Only permit goods to be transported from Eves—ah, _Ettinsmoor_—so that we can effectively maintain business for your advantage."

" . . . and as long as you do this things, you may stay, but at the first infraction, I reserve the right to drive every last man and woman in your guild out of my lands, back to where you came from. Have I made myself clear?"

Galor led his two companions in bowing at Melanie's feet rather in the Calormene fashion than Ettinsmoorish. "Oh, may your wisdom increase, if that were possible, Lady Melanie! Truly no Lord in the history of our—of _this_—great nation has been so equitable and just! May we find favor in your eyes and in the eyes of the Spirit you serve." Galor humbly raised his eyes while keeping his head bowed. "Please accept this humble gift in It's name, and allow us to retire, that we may prepare to employ ourselves in a manner befitting the privilege you have so magnanimously bestowed upon us."

Melanie took the chest with a pleased expression. "You may go," she told Galor. The three men bowed low once more and left. Melanie retired into her bedchamber, intensely pleased with how capably she had handled the whole situation.


	9. Chapter 9: A Tainted Victory

_**Chapter 9**_

The next morning, Taurin paid his customary visit. Melanie received him in the parlor adjacent to her bedchamber.  
"How goes the battle, sister?" he said lightly, reclining in an armchair as if it were a haystack. Taurin and Leif were the only two in the whole province who referred to Melanie by her given name instead of "milady." Taurin, in addition, had taken to calling her "sister", referring to the popular assumption of Melanie as his relation. Melanie, after living most of her life as an outcast, rather enjoyed his consideration.  
She told him all about the devastating results of taking matters into her own hands, and the way she tried to solve it. "And just the other day, _another _guild came from Ettinsmoor, so I allowed them to stay . . . under heavy regulation, of course."  
Taurin looked skeptical. "But . . . I thought you told me last week that the Aslan-Spirit intended to rid Nast of the merchants. Isn't it defeating his purpose if you allow this guild to stay?"  
His pointed questions brought up an unexpected rush of irritation within Melanie.  
"It is not as if I'm letting them do their own thing!" she snapped, standing out of her chair. "They will account for every last particle they exchange, whether goods or money, and I have set rigid parameters against commercial dominance."  
Taurin remained unconvinced. "Even so, Melanie, don't you think it might be disrespectful of the Aslan-Spirit? You spoke so reverently of him before."  
Melanie rolled her eyes, intensely annoyed at her friend and one-time mentor. She glared at Taurin. "Need I remind you of your place, _farm boy,_" she said icily. "_I _am the Lady of Nast, and I assure you I _only _have its _best _interests in mind!" She stormed into her bedroom and threw herself on the bed, fuming.  
"Melanie."  
Something within Melanie sank when she heard Aslan's deep, soul-piercing voice. She did not lift her head.  
"Melanie!"  
His tone grew more insistent, and with a guilty heart Melanie sat up, but still did not meet those great, noble eyes.  
"Child, what have you done?" He asked the question very innocently, but Melanie couldn't help feeling that he knew all about it. Or, perhaps he didn't? If he only knew the circumstances, and not the logic behind them, perhaps Melanie could explain. After all, her actions hadn't been wrong . . . entirely.  
Melanie finally raised her head, but Aslan no longer stood before her. Soundlessly, the great Lion had crossed the room and now stood at the window overlooking the Square. Melanie knew he could see the merchants doing their business, the business _she _had permitted, when he had expressly told her to let him divest the city of them. Guiltily, she watched him for any sign of disapproval, but Aslan remained neutral, merely standing, watching, his tail swaying back and forth.  
"What have you done, Child?" Aslan finally broke that awful silence.  
"I—" Melanie's voice cracked, and she realized with surprise that her mouth suddenly felt very dry. She swallowed, and her explanation came out a bit faster than she wanted it to, "I tried to do the right thing, Aslan, truly! I thought if I put a lot of restraints on them it would discourage them, maybe influence them to leave . . ."  
"Yet they professed such admiration for you that you listened to your pride instead of to me, and promised them protection. Come here, Child."  
Melanie attempted to regain Aslan's good graces by bringing the treasure-chest with her when she joined him at the window. "But see," she tried again, "I am not the only one they desired to honor. Here, they entrusted this treasure for me to give you." She started to open the box, but Aslan suddenly whirled upon her and snarled so fiercely and with such a terrible expression that she very quickly clapped it shut again.  
"Melanie," he reprimanded her sternly, "you have fallen double-victim to your own pride, first in words, then in riches. Do I desire jewels and gold? Entire worlds are at my disposal, countries to do with as I please, what need do I have for tribute? Child, the sweetest treasure to me is a meek and humble heart!"  
Tears itched at Melanie's eyes. "I'm sorry, Aslan," she said hoarsely, "I . . . I should have waited. I was wrong; Please forgive me."  
Aslan's face relaxed, no longer so terrifying. "You are forgiven, Child, but here will be consequences for your decisions. By that chest you hold in your hands, evil will come to the world of Narnia."  
Narnia! The Pevensies' land! And now it would be blighted because of Melanie! After all they had done for her in England, _this _was how she repaid them! Melanie felt more like a curse than ever.  
"Look at the merchants, Melanie. Do you recognize any of them?" Aslan asked. Melanie—more determined now than ever to obey Aslan—studied each face as he bid, but shook her head, "No, I don't believe any of them look familiar. I've never seen them before."  
"Look closer, my Child. Do you see the old man in the far corner? You have seen him before now."  
Melanie stared hard at the man. Now that Aslan suggested it, there _was _something familiar—vaguely so—about the way he smiled. Melanie watched him accept money from a villager, grinning as he pocketed the money. Instantly, she knew.  
"Yes! I _did _see him! Five mo—no, I suppose it would be ten years ago! In this very market! Why then, they _aren't _from Ettinsmoor at all! Galor lied to me!" Hurt and anger broiled inside Melanie. "I must call Captain Pareshin and tell him to drive those lying thieves out of—"  
"Melanie," Aslan interrupted, "Such action does not befit one of your position."  
Melanie glanced at Aslan. "But he—but they lied to me! Therefore I have no obligation to keep my word!"  
"You have that obligation, on your honor as the Lady of Nast, Melanie. You gave them your word, whether or not they told what was true."  
Melanie sighed, "Couldn't you . . ." her voice trailed as Aslan gazed straight into her eyes. It must be professed that at this moment Melanie felt uncommonly silly. "I mean, would it be wrong if . . . _you _drove them out, and I had nothing to do with it?"  
Aslan made a noise that Melanie thought—or hoped—sounded like a chuckle. "But you _would_, Child, for everyone knows of me through you, even if they do not know what or who I am."  
The realization forced itself upon Melanie. Aslan resumed watching the marketplace. "The guild will remain in Nast forevermore, as a reminder to you of what pride is like: subtle, appealing on the surface, but damaging and extremely difficult to remove. Humility—like obedience—is a voluntary choice we must make."  
"Yes, Aslan," Melanie agreed.  
"I will leave you for now," the Lion continued, "but I will return again."  
He turned as if to walk away, but Melanie called, "Aslan?" He slowly turned back to her. Hesitantly, Melanie asked, "How . . . how can I be sure of your return?"  
She meant the question as a request for some sort of warning, perhaps even a scheduled date, but Aslan puzzled her profusely when he replied, "You may always be sure of my return."  
Before she could ask the Lion what he meant, Aslan vanished. Melanie was left with the chest of jewels still in her hands. Wretched thing! The riches had lost their allure. The symbols carved into its sides, once so cunning and fascinating, now seemed dark and ominous.  
"I'll destroy every last trinket in it!" Melanie cried with a vengeance, but as soon as she touched a diamond to fulfill her purpose, there was a flash that made her blink, and she found herself standing quite unexpectedly in front of a door in a dim, narrow hall, with her hand resting on the doorknob. Where was she now? Melanie tried the knob; it wouldn't move.  
"It's stuck!" she cried . . . or would have, if her tongue had been working right. Instead, it did not seem that she made a noise at all. Everything was deathly quiet. Melanie realized where she was when Susan appeared next to her in the hallway, cast a baleful glance in her direction, and went into her room, closing the door behind her.  
Melanie heard none of this, for in England, she was deaf once more. Now more than before, she was intensely discontent with her condition. She recalled what it had been like to hear . . . and she conceded that it was on account of being able to hear that she had been so swayed by Galor's fine words. It was through speaking that she had made such trouble for Nast. Melanie realized that such abilities were gifts, and she resolved not to take them so lightly. _Perhaps being deaf and dumb has its benefits, _she thought smugly as she walked downstairs.


	10. Chapter 10: The Pevensies Throw A Party

_**Chapter 10**_

Susan walked through the doors at school the next day to find Hattie Pergil waiting for her.  
"Say, Susan!" the girl said amiably, "why didn't you come last night? It was a fine party, but it would have been fantastic if you had been there! Where were you?"  
Susan tried to be congenial to Hattie as she had before, but as soon as blue eyes met hazel ones behind glass lenses, all Susan could think of was Benton's knowledgeable comment on Hattie's simplicity. "I was . . . busy," Susan finished lamely, and tried to walk away.  
Hattie followed her. "Say, Su, is something wrong? I thought we were friends. Susan?"  
Susan only walked faster, and Hattie couldn't keep up without "wobbling."  
"Susan, slow down!"  
But Susan felt an incredible urge to _get away _from Hattie and her simple-mindedness, away from anything that would cause her to remember—no! Susan must not even _think _the name of . . . that place. She desperately dove into her studies, intent on shutting her worries out with anatomical terms and chemical equations.

Lunchtime was no easier. All the students ate in a common area, sort of a park in the quadrangle tacitly designated for this purpose. When Susan entered the quadrangle, the first person she saw was Ettie Genoud. The French girl chatted happily with a group of the students Susan had gotten to know over the last term. Susan craved to know what the topic of their discussion was, but once again, all she could think of was Benton's heartfelt insinuation about Ettie's connections.  
Oh dear! Ettie had seen her and was waving now. The whole group had turned to look at Susan. What on earth would she do now? _Dare _she associate with them? Oh, if only Benton was there! Wait, he was! But he appeared deep in his own conversation with some of his own chums.  
Caught in the middle, Susan fretted over whether to sit alone or not, but just then, Benton caught her eye and waved. Intense relief settled over Susan, and she threaded her way over to his table and accepted the open seat.  
"Susan, I want you to meet some friends of mine. This is Jeremiah Garret, Minerva Pennyfather, and Veronica Winterblott. Everyone, this is Susan Pevensie."  
Susan exchanged "hello's" as Benton continued, "You know, Susan, Veronica and Minerva have had similar 'other-world' experiences. You might be interested in their stories."  
"Oh, yes," Minerva inserted arrogantly, "I used to have episodes of fantastical adventures in which I was the queen of the world. I would travel to all kinds of places, fight dragons, meet my handsome prince, and such." She sighed in a very patronizingly mature manner. "How trivial and silly such things seem now!"  
Susan shook her head. Minerva's conquests were certainly fantasies, but Susan could know for sure whether or not she had done those things, or merely imagined them. Minerva Pennyfather couldn't even begin to know Susan's struggle. "But you see," Susan explained, "_My _situation is different! Some part of me truly _believes _in the talking animals, and the worlds inside wardrobes!"  
Veronica spoke up, "I used to have those." Her thin, wispy voice matched her willowy, frail stature, and her wide eyes positively stared out of her head. Veronica brushed a lock of hair from her face as she spoke. "I still remember as a young girl, crawling into the large cupboard we used for linens, and thinking I could see a forest inside. I never left the cupboard, only looked around for a long time before crawling back out. Frankly, it was so real it scared me. The next day, I crawled into the cupboard again and shut the door, and there was the forest! I still did not leave, but a small fawn" (Susan started and her heart fluttered until she convinced herself Veronica had said _fawn _not _Faun_) "crept up to me and seemed to speak words like a human! I was so wholly terrified I crawled back out."  
Susan stared at the girl, hardly knowing what to say or think. The question escaped unplanned from her lips, "Why did you stop believing?"  
Benton heard it, and cried, "Susan!"  
Susan realized what she had said.  
"No, no," she retreated hastily, "I meant _how_ did you stop believing?"  
Veronica shrugged her lean shoulders. "I knew eventually I'd want to believe in the other world, and I couldn't have the portal in the cupboard distracting me from real life. One day, I just decided that whenever I saw the portal in the cupboard, I would tell myself out loud, 'There is no such thing as another world.' After a while of doing this, the forest in the cupboard disappeared, and I didn't have to worry about it anymore."  
How Susan longed to be free of her cares and worries over . . . _other places_! Benton caught up with her after classes.  
"See?" He pointed triumphantly, "My method works! Keep going, Susan, keep telling yourself there's no such thing as Narnia, and soon you won't have to remind yourself anymore."  
Susan grasped at this hope for all it was worth to her. She _would _forget N—_That _Place.  
Eventually.

_**Chapter 11**_

As the semester progressed, Susan spent more time with Veronica, Minerva, and others of Benton's "set." He encouraged her, and even began inviting her to his house, hosting at first small parties, and gradually increasing their size to effectively accomplish what he termed, "easing Susan into philosophically diverse society." Through logical processes, he persuaded her to think "analytically", and to treat Narnia as what it was—a childish game.  
By the end of the term, with Christmas holidays tantalizing the soul of every student, Susan felt very comfortable about denouncing Narnia when among Benton and his friends, though she never could quite manage it in front of her siblings.  
Finally, the long-awaited holiday arrived, and Peter began to discuss with Susan the idea of hosting a holiday party.  
"Oh, and have everybody here?" Susan queried.  
"Well, yes," Peter replied, "that's the general idea of having a party."  
Susan had grown so accustomed to going to Benton's type of intellectual "parties"—more like discussion sessions—that she found herself uncomfortable at home, and thus was hoping the only Christmas party she would attend _wouldn't _be there at Ketterley House. She tried to find excuses.  
"Oh, but . . . this is such a small house . . . "  
"That's all right; we would only invite a small number of people."  
"Would Mrs. Mandrow approve?"  
"She trusts us, Susan; of course she approves."  
"I don't know . . ."  
Peter looked at his sister strangely. "Susan, what is the matter? You never had these hesitations with all the parties you've been zipping off to all the last year."  
Susan cocked her head petulantly. "Oh, I know; but someone else's parties are always so much more fun, because I don't have to act as hostess, and clean up after everyone. It's . . . different . . . _you _wouldn't understand."  
Peter couldn't help giving Susan a half-grin. "No, I don't understand; that's why I'm asking you. If it really worries you that much, here's what we'll do. We don't have to invite any friends, we'll just have family: Ed, Lucy, and cousin Eustace Scrubb. In fact, come to think of it, Melanie loves cleaning so, I won't require you to do any. Does this satisfy you?"  
Susan coyly returned his grin. "Well, if we must have a party, I suppose we must have a party."  
Peter clapped Susan's knee in a congratulatory manner. "That's the spirit!" he cried.

Invitations were sent accordingly, and the responses came in short order. Eustace even asked to bring a school-chum of his, a certain Jill Pole. "We have a lot to tell you," he hinted in his letter.  
Susan wondered what their cousin meant, but Peter suggested replying in the affirmative. As she was writing the reply, Susan saw an opportunity. "Since we're letting Eustace bring a friend," she asked Peter, "might I invite one as well?"  
Peter's eyes twinkled mischievously. "What happened to your small party, Su?"  
Susan rolled her eyes, and Peter laughed, "You may invite whomever you want, it's all right with me."  
Happily, Susan addressed a final invitation to a certain dark-haired someone. Perhaps if _he _was there, she wouldn't feel so vulnerable.

The day of the party came, but it did not turn out as "safe" as Susan hoped it would be. Benton was late in coming, and the bulk of what Eustace and Jill "had to tell" turned out to be their most recent adventure in—where else?—Narnia.  
"It couldn't _possibly _have been anywhere else!" Susan groaned to herself. She tried to change the subject. "That's a very beautiful dress you're wearing, Jill."

The girl shrugged. "It's Narnian, what can I say? I wonder that you and Lucy don't have dresses of your own."

Susan stiffened; would Benton _ever _show up? Finally, she heard a knock at the door. "Benton!" she cried happily when she answered it. There he stood, with snow in his dark hair, a twinkle in his eye, and a cake in his hands. "Come in!" she welcomed him, accepting the cake and setting it on the table with the rest of the Christmas goodies prepared by the women of the house.

Susan introduced Benton to everyone else, but just at that moment, the festive Christmas spirit had set her brothers and sister reminiscing about "that first Narnian Christmas." Susan worried that Benton would feel left out, so she directed him to the sofa on the far side of the room, away from everybody else. Benton tried to wave off her concern for him, but it was obvious that he _did _feel somewhat like an intruder. Susan was intent on showing him that all his teachings had not been in vain, and soon she and Benton were comfortably chatting away, uneasiness completely forgotten.

Presently, Lucy ran up and seized Susan's hand. "Oh Susan! We need another couple for the Snow Dance Eustace learned in Narnia! It's great fun! Won't you join us?"

Susan froze. She could feel Benton's eyes bearing on her. Unbidden, the memory leapt up in her mind of the marvelous Narnian dances, far more intricate and enjoyable than any in England. Would Benton _really _think ill of her if she appeared to humor her sister? _But, truly, _she thought, _after all he's done for me, would it be discouraging to him?_

Susan nursed in herself a desire to prove her merit to Benton. "Oh," she said pettishly, as she knew he would want her to, "there you go with _Narnia_ again!" She sighed in that grown-up-memory way that is so aggravating to children, "What wonderful memories you kids still have! Fancy your still thinking about those funny games we used to play when we were children!" She glanced triumphantly at Benton, eager to bask in his burst of congratulation.

But the only "burst" that came was the tears from poor Lucy's eyes. She was too crushed to speak, but only rushed out of the room, crying. Susan's sensitive heart pricked her terribly, and she suddenly realized in humiliation that the _whole room _had heard her unfeeling comment, and not only Benton.

Benton himself, seeing the start of a potential family feud and having no desire to be caught in the middle, whispered to Susan, "I'll wait outside."

Susan grasped his hand as he left, "Benton, wait . . ." What had gone wrong? She saw Benton, waiting in the entryway. Good, he had not left; now Peter confronted her.

"Susan, what is the matter with you?"

Susan attempted an air of nonchalance, but in her bewilderment it came across more like insolence. "Don't know what you mean," she returned.

"You know very _well _what I mean, Susan Pevensie!"

Peter's tone was more stern than Susan had ever heard him use, except as K—no! She mustn't!

Peter continued, "Ever since you've taken up with that Benton fellow, you've put on airs and been altogether miserable! And now you've wounded your own sister with your pride, just as Edmund did under the influence of the White Witch!"

Susan's temper flared at the insinuation, and she set her jaw. "The White Witch doesn't exist, Peter! I wonder what's gotten into you, that you believe it's all still real! I can't believe you're encouraging it! You've got to face the facts Peter! The _game_ is _over_! You may be older in years, but I don't believe you're really grown up until you realize that Narnia is _dead_."

She turned back to the entryway as she heard Benton close the front door behind him. She reached the front step just as he stepped off the bottom one.

"Benton!" she cried, "Benton, I'm sorry!"

Susan expected his disappointment, but when he turned around, his eyes were shining.

"Susan," he said quietly as she approached, "I stayed inside just long enough to hear everything. Have you ever . . . stood up to your brother like that?"

Susan shook her head. "I was always afraid to."

Benton laid gentle hands on her shoulders. "But now you believe in real life enough to stand up to even him? Susan, you've finally grown up into a woman."

She looked up, surprised and encouraged. "You really think so, Benton?"

He nodded enthusiastically. "I heard you say _Narnia_ without even flinching. How different, how much improved from the girl I met only a year ago, who wasn't even sure _what _she believed! Trust me, Susan, I know psychological maturity when I see it. I'm proud of you."

Susan gazed into Benton's eyes. There wasn't a hint of insincerity about them.

He leaned closer.

So did she.

Finally, without a care but for each other, they kissed.

Susan pulled away, suddenly glad of the nighttime shadows that concealed the bright flush coloring her cheeks. "Merry Christmas, Benton Northwyn."

"Merry Christmas, Susan Pevensie."

Susan concentrated on keeping an even pace as she walked back into the house. She was so light-hearted she felt like running and skipping, but she knew such behavior was not decorous, especially since she had been pronounced "mature" by her mentor!

She paused just inside the door, feeling victorious over herself. Now she could experience the same freedom from imagination that Veronica and the others enjoyed!

The house was silent. The younger kids probably bedded down in the spare room. Susan peeked into the sitting room and saw Peter, who still sat looking pensive at the dying fire.

"Susan."

It took a moment for Susan to recognize the hollow voice as Peter's. "Yes?" she replied, entering the sitting room.

"Do you still mean what you said to Lucy and to me? Is Narnia really a game to you?"

Susan fought the urge to laugh. How differently she viewed her brother, now that _she _was mature. What was the silly boy so worried about? It wasn't as if she had denounced her parents!

"Yes, I did mean it! _All _of it, every syllable!" she cried brazenly. "Peter, _I don't believe in Narnia." _There! She'd said it! Out loud, to his face! Wouldn't Benton be proud! Feeling every inch a conqueror, Susan ascended the stairs to her bedroom.

For the first time, Susan Pevensie truly felt grown up.

THE END


End file.
